


Nightmare

by botanicalTJ



Series: Comfort in Chaos [3]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Dreams and Nightmares, Friend Zoning, M/M, Merthur - Freeform, Night Terrors, Nightmares, Post-Episode: s02e13 The Last Dragonlord, Protective Merlin, Soft Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:34:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28419951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/botanicalTJ/pseuds/botanicalTJ
Summary: Arthur needs Merlin more than he'd like to admit.(Repost, originally part of Comfortember 2020)
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Comfort in Chaos [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2081529
Comments: 3
Kudos: 104
Collections: Comfortember 2020





	Nightmare

They slept together now. Neither of them had been able to rest for days after Kilgarrah's attack, despite how bone-deep tired they were under Morgause's spell. Merlin couldn't close his eyes without seeing the bodies, blackened under the dragon's fire and staining the cobblestones a rusty color that wouldn't come out no matter how much water was dumped upon it. Even in Arthur's bed _(funny, wasn't it, a servant sleeping in the prince's chambers at all, let alone the prince's own bed)_ , he spent hours listening for the sound of the boy's breathing instead of actually allowing silence in his mind. And Arthur, ever the pompous prince he'd been raised to be, spent the time recounting the dragon's defeat in bold threads of anecdote, rather than admitting out loud that he, too, didn't walk away from the event without a scar upon his mind.

They always awoke with dark circles deeper than the night before, but at least they were together.

Merlin was accustomed to lack of sleep. He really did have a busy job, running around after Arthur all the time. He loved the prat, more than Arthur would ever know, but even working in the field all summer in Ealdor had not produced the same aching exhaustion that being the prince's servant did. And it wasn't unusual, either, for his lack of sleep to be due to anxiety that gripped him suddenly around the throat just moments before he drifted off. But he'd never seen Arthur in such a state. Even Arthur, powerful and headstrong as he was, could not order away his own mind's insolence.

At first, they slept back to back, to get past the initial awkwardness of sharing such a small, sacred space as a prince's bed. But Merlin craned his neck around at the slightest movement behind him, no matter how many times it happened. It was easier the next night to just face inward. And once he'd made the first move to do so, Arthur suddenly found it convenient to do the same thing (under various threats not to speak about it to anyone). And of course, Arthur took up as much room as possible. So for Merlin it was either clinging to the edge, trying not to fall off, or giving in and tucking himself within Arthur's outstretched arms. It wasn't so bad.

It had been nearly a week since Kilgarrah and Morgause and the undead knights. Merlin was averaging an hour or two a night and making up for it with naps in the coat closets and quick lie-downs in the castle's many spare guest rooms. Arthur was slowly starting to return to his normal schedule, if only adding the element of talking himself to sleep. Merlin always kept his eyes on him for as long as he could before he also succumbed to slumber; Arthur's face was never so relaxed, never so unguarded in its organic emotions. Merlin could watch his expression change as his dreams did, from serene to awed to elated all in one night. 

He was relaxed now, not even snoring tonight. Merlin's own eyes were even drifting, cracked half-open just enough to let him see the rise and fall of Arthur's chest. He was curled up on his side, taking up less space so Arthur could be comfortable, but he didn't mind. The blankets were still so much softer than his own and he'd forgotten what it was like to be so warm where he slept when it was so cold outside. He could sleep like this every night and never be tired again, if his mind would just quiet down.

A strangled gasp left Arthur's throat. Merlin's eyes flashed open to see his peaceful expression shift to a creased brow and a mouth twisted in discomfort. Merlin shot up into a sitting position, his instincts ringing in his skull like a hammer smashed against a bell. Arthur's hands flew up from the covers, one arm catching Merlin right in the gut with a choked exclamation from the boy. The arm flailed upwards and Merlin made to grab it while doubled over, not knowing what was happening but certain that he needed to stop it. 

Arthur didn't give him long enough to even try. With another, much more clear gasp, he awoke with a start that jerked his whole body. His eyes flashed open, bright blue but glazed with a vision that was far from in front of them. His hand flew to his waist, grasping frantically at an invisible weapon. In a half second, realization flashed over his face and Merlin took the opportunity to finally grab his wrists, forcing his hands to go still.

"Arthur," he breathed, leaning over the boy so his own weight could aid in keeping Arthur from springing up and attacking the air, or whatever he intended to do with the sword that wasn't in his belt. He could _hear_ Arthur's breath being sucked between his teeth and exhaled in short bursts that were akin to illness. At first, the horrible possibility of a lung fever made Merlin's heart drop, but his friend's skin was downright clammy with cold sweat instead of heat. It was like Arthur was seeing right through him, with the panic on his face and how he thrashed beneath him.

Before he could consider the possibility of Arthur snapping his wrists on pure defensive instinct, Merlin's hands flew up to cradle his face, holding his gaze steady. His own chest was beating near painfully but he could tell now that Arthur was still asleep, still stuck in whatever terrifying memory his mind had come up with. He'd never seen Arthur look so terribly defenseless in his panic before and it made his gut twist with nerves to even consider the thought. "You're alright, snap out of it," he murmured, not daring to smack the boy's cheek like he might have in any other situation. " _Breathe_."

Arthur still sounded like he'd dragged all of the knights' armor up the castle stairs, labored and desperate, but his eyes blinked and he slowly started to look less provoked, like he wanted to ravage the first person who crossed his field of vision. Carefully, Merlin slipped an arm under his back and shifted to lean against the pillows, easing Arthur to lay against him. Arthur complied much like a rag doll, slumping easily onto Merlin's chest in an unaware act of slumber.

"You'll be the death of me, Arthur Pendragon," Merlin mumbled against blonde hair that was silkier than it looked. He ran his fingers through it, unrestrained by the typical abstinence of his affections. Arthur looked young, so young, shaking like a spring deer with his eyelashes fluttering every time he drew in another trembling breath. Merlin considered how he was mirroring his own mother, when he himself had suffered through night terrors as a child, and his heart twinged when he realized that Arthur had no memories to compare that to. So he held on tighter, tight enough to make up for being unable to fight Arthur's dragons a second time. 

And then he was falling asleep himself, the covers tangled around both of them in bunches around their waists. His fingers scratched delicately at Arthur's scalp, rhythmic in a way that barely tapered off even as he started to drift. Their breaths synchronized so Merlin could tell of Arthur's vitality from the state of his own. And just before his consciousness sunk away for real, a whisper brushed against his chest: "You're a good friend, Merlin."

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading <3


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